


hue & me, we got a blossoming romance

by aiyah



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boys In Love, Crush at First Sight, Flowers, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Humor, I love Iroh, Idiots in Love, Ikebana, Iroh just Laughs, Language of Flowers, M/M, Matchmaker Iroh, Painter Sokka, Sokka is also an Awkward Turtleduck, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, florist zuko, my tags are a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25340653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiyah/pseuds/aiyah
Summary: What happens when you blend together several kinds of paint, a gratuitous amount of flowers, and one meddling uncle?ChaosZuko's about to find out.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 503
Collections: Koi’s atla fic recs





	hue & me, we got a blossoming romance

**Author's Note:**

> for foxxy canyon.
> 
> it's jack's birthday today! i thought i'd try to write something warm and fluffy, and this happened. prompts include: " _the painting class thing one_ " and " _the flower one_ ". 
> 
> i hope y'all like it, and happy birthday (once again) to jack!
> 
> (unbeta'd as always, all mistakes are mine :>)

~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~

[ _My dear nephew, please call me as soon as possible_.]

One look at those words on his phone, and Zuko’s blood pressure careens through the roof. He’s always had a soft spot for Iroh, and seeing messages like these from his beloved uncle is enough to send Zuko into a whole new realm of concern and panic. Iroh usually prefers talking on the phone over sending messages, and that fact, combined with the message itself, tells Zuko that something must be seriously wrong.

 _Today’s his birthday—it can’t possibly be about that, right_?

Shaking, Zuko drops his floral scissors on the workbench and places the yellow zinnias he’s been trimming into a nearby vase. He fumbles with his phone for a few moments before balancing it on top of some floral foam and putting his uncle on speaker.

“Hello?”

“Zuko!” Iroh’s voice booms in the soft quiet of the flower shop, startling Zuko. “How are you!”

“Better, now that I can hear that you’re doing fine.” Zuko rolls his eyes slightly and checks his own pulse with two trembling fingers. If only Iroh can see the worry that he’s placed his only nephew in.

“I was wondering if you’re going to be busy later tonight.”

“Not really. I’m just about done with my last arrangement for the day, but other than that, I’ll probably be heading home soon.”

“That sounds lovely,” Iroh says. “I was wondering if I could trouble you with just one thing?”

(Iroh’s never one to beat around the bush—now there’s the uncle Zuko knows and loves.)

“What thing?” Zuko asks.

“Would you like to go somewhere with me later tonight?”

“Uh—” Zuko pauses as he looks around the shop. “Where were you thinking?”

“Remember the cute little painting studio that Fung was talking about? The one that opened up a month ago?”

“Sure?” With everything going on, Zuko barely has enough brain cells to keep track of his own things, let alone something that his _ikebana_ master had said in the past.

“Well, Fung was able to reserve a private session for my birthday celebration, and I was hoping that you would like to come along?”

“Um—” Zuko says, because there’s nothing else he’d rather do on a Friday night than to hang out with a group of geriatic men, much less paint with them.

“Please, Zuko? You’re my beloved nephew, and there’s no one else I would rather ask to come along,” Iroh pleads, and Zuko swears he can imagine his uncle looking up at him with imploring eyes.

“Ugh, alright,” Zuko sighs. “I’ll be there.”

“That’s fantastic news!” Iroh claps over the phone. “I’ll stop by the shop beforehand, yes?”

“Sounds great.”

“Oh, and Zuko?”

“Yes, Uncle?”

“Remember to bring some flowers.”

“But I’m already—” Zuko bites his tongue as he looks over to make sure that his present is ready. “Wait, why?”

“Flowers. Every shop deserves a beautiful display of flowers, and it’s good manners.”

“Oh.” Zuko can sense a hint of annoyance tinging his thoughts. It’s one thing to ask for congratulatory flowers; it’s a whole other thing to ask for them _just a few hours_ before the actual time, but for Iroh, Zuko will do anything.

“Yes, yes. I’ll see you soon,” he says, mentally going over his inventory in his head and trying to figure out the best flowers to give.

“Wonderful! I’ll see you soon!” The phone clicks off, and Zuko grits his teeth in mild frustration. He stands up and wanders towards the coolers, muttering as he slides the door open and looks inside. Zuko’s not expecting another shipment for a few more days, and his inventory is completely depleted. There are a few flowers and some greenery left, and Zuko huffs as he pulls them out and places them on his workbench. Iroh will expect nothing but the best, and Zuko intends to do just that.

After all, Iroh was the only one in the entire family who had supported his interests and passions for floral arrangement, especially _ikebana_. Zuko’s father, Ozai, had scoffed and shook his head at his own son. Azula had laughed and jeered at his earliest attempts in designing bouquets. But Iroh—Iroh was the one who encouraged Zuko to push forward, even securing him an apprenticeship with an old friend in Japan so Zuko could actually study the ancient art of Japanese floral arrangement.

And with Iroh’s blessing, Zuko opened up _The Dancing Dragon_ , a flower shop specializing in creative arrangements and bouquets that he carefully designs for any occasion. Zuko’s _ikebana_ displays are an open secret, something he practices regularly but only shares with the people closest to him—which is probably why Iroh has asked for an arrangement in the first place. Zuko rolls up his sleeves, places a _kenzan_ to stabilize his cuts in the shallow _utsuwa_ dish, and readies his clippers.

An hour later and he’s created a simple slanted design of peonies, the elegant pink blossoms interspersed with leafy fronds of green tree fern and lemon leaf. Zuko picks up the arrangement and places it carefully on the table next to his gift for Iroh, a spark of pride surging through his chest. A lush spray of amethyst orchids burst from in between a central stalk of jade bamboo curling upwards in a delicate spiral, dwarfing the blue porcelain pot underneath. Zuko has to admit that it is one of his best arrangements by far, and he hopes that his uncle will appreciate the gift. It’s not every day that you turn seventy-seven.

The clock ticks softly as Zuko tidies up the rest of _The Dancing Dragon_ and makes sure that everything is in place. The bouquet of zinnias from earlier is nestled back into the side of one of his coolers, the lights above his workbench turned off. Zuko can almost forget about his promise to Iroh about the painting thing, and he hopes that he won’t regret this experience. He wonders what kind of person would be willing to teach a painting class for a bunch of old guys.

 _It’s probably going to be one of Iroh’s friends from his pai sho club anyways_ , he thinks as he waits for his uncle to arrive. _Hopefully it won’t be as bad as I think it’ll go_.

~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~

Zuko has barely stepped foot through the front door of _Drawing a Blank_ when he wants to take back everything he said before.

First: the party itself. His uncle, in his infinite wisdom, had casually forgotten to tell Zuko that the painting party was less like “painting” and more like “painting with a twist.” Zuko comes to realize that this is a codeword for _people-getting-drunk-and-trying-to-paint-stuff_ , especially when Piandao and Jeong Jeong show up with bottles of _sake_ and twin grins painted on their faces. It gets worse when Pakku and Fung show up with cases of _shochu_. And when a sufficiently tipsy Bumi arrives with a bottle of Japanese whiskey, Zuko steadies himself and prepares for the long night ahead. (He isn’t the biggest fan of drinking in general, and he grips his water bottle tightly in his fist to ward off the spirits.)

Next: the painting. In the general Huo household, fine arts were seen as a hindrance to casual world domination. Unfortunately, Zuko inherited the same distaste for these pastimes. He’s gone through most of his life using the reliable excuse of _I-can’t-draw_ to get out of these sorts of activities. The truth is, Zuko really, _really_ can’t draw. (Just take a look at his sketchpad for _ikebana_ and bouquet designs; you’ll see.) He can barely sketch out a smiley face let alone a simple circle, and now he’s being expected to follow along with an instructor as they attempt to paint. (This is all Iroh’s genius idea, after all.)

And last but definitely not least: the instructor himself. When Zuko first walks into the studio with Iroh by his side, he nearly drops his peony _ikebana_ in surprise. He’d been expecting some other equally-ancient, sage-like man to be leading the class—not a tall, tanned man with dark hair swept back into a tight braid down his back, holding a coffee mug emblazoned with the words “ _NOT PAINT WATER_ ” in alarmingly large font. This guy doesn’t even look a day over thirty, and Zuko feels self-conscious as he senses his own twenty-eight years catching up to him.

The man introduces himself as Sokka, and he smiles when Zuko quickly shoves the peony _ikebana_ into his hands and scuttles behind Iroh in complete awkwardness.

“This is lovely!” Sokka says, and _spirits above_ , Zuko is positively wilting into that voice, drinking up the syllables as a blush dapples across his face. He’s no stranger to compliments, but there’s something about _Sokka_ praising him that affects his very being.

“Isn’t my nephew the best?” Iroh puffs up like a proud little penguin. “His arrangements are always exquisite.”

“That’s the word. _Exquisite_.” The word rolls off of Sokka’s tongue and straight into Zuko’s ears. Zuko’s blush darkens when Sokka turns towards him. “So what’s your name?”

 _Spirits help me_ , and suddenly the words are stuck in Zuko’s throat, struggling to get out. He punches Iroh gently on the arm and hangs his head downwards.

“I’m Iroh, and this handsome young man is my nephew Zuko!” Iroh is his usual jolly self, clapping a hand on Zuko’s back and startling him into proper posture. “I do hope that you two get along, especially with all of us old people here.”

“Uncle!” _This is absolutely humiliating_.

“Won’t be a problem,” Sokka grins toothily. “I was actually thinking that we could use Zuko’s flowers here as inspiration for our paintings today, but it’s your birthday and you’re my esteemed guest, so it’s all up to you.”

“Flattery will get you _everywhere_ , my young friend.” Iroh shakes his head, beaming when Piandao hands him an _o-choko_ cup full of sake. “But of course! Let us celebrate all of this young talent! My friends, are we all ready?”

Everyone raises their _o-choko_ cups in a toast, and the painting begins.

Thirty minutes into the painting party, and Zuko realizes that he’s rapidly failing to hide his blossoming attraction towards Sokka. The painting instructor is enthusiastic and peppy, making sure that the entire class is ready before moving on to the next step. This takes a while, especially when Pakku and Jeong Jeong begin arguing about warm colors versus cool colors. _Old men can be so dramatic_ , Zuko sighs as an empty _sake_ bottle flies through the air and towards his face. He reaches up and catches it without a second thought, placing the bottle in a safe place free from drunk old men.

And looking around the studio, Zuko can see how Sokka is also insanely talented, especially if the paintings on the wall have anything to speak for themselves. The paintings are mostly landscapes, viridian forests hung alongside sweeping seas. There are also a few portraits; Zuko can spot a young couple sitting with a large Saint Bernard in one of them. The young woman looks like Sokka, with dark skin and bright eyes that match the waterfall behind her.

And most of all, Sokka is attentive. (Zuko can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not.)

“You missed a spot here,” Sokka murmurs in Zuko’s ear as he leans in from behind to point out a patch of white canvas. The smells of sandalwood and bergamot plunge into Zuko’s senses and cloud his thoughts.

“Oh,” Zuko manages to croak before dipping his brush in his palette and filling in the space with a stroke of red, blending it in with the surrounding pink.

“Lookin’ great,” Sokka winks, and that small gesture almost causes Zuko to fall off of his stool. He honestly doesn’t know how he’s going to survive the rest of this two-hour session with those damned blue eyes scrutinizing his every move. Luckily for him, the painting instructor moves on to chastise a drunk Bumi for mixing up the cups and almost drinking a cup of paint water instead of his _shochu_ in confusion.

And when their time is up, Zuko’s pleasantly surprised to see that his painting doesn’t look as bad as he thought it would be. Sure, his lopsided clouds of peonies can probably use some work, but Zuko considers this to be a vast improvement over his usual scribbles with crayons and colored pencils.

“Zuko, you are so talented!” Iroh waltzes next to him, plopping his own canvas down. Zuko notices the fine strokes on each peony petal and the barely-there wisps of green sprouting from the ferns. Leave it to a world-renowned art director to show off his artistic abilities at his own birthday party.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“No, it really does look wonderful.” His uncle nods his head in quiet contemplation. “I hope that you enjoyed coming with me.”

“It’s fine,” Zuko finally says. “It’s your birthday. Of course I’m enjoying it.”

“The painting?” Iroh leans in, and Zuko can smell the whiskey on his breath. “Or the view?”

“Uncle!”

“Relax, my dear nephew.” Iroh slings an arm over Zuko’s shoulder. “I daresay that he’s interested in you, too.”

He points a finger towards Sokka. Zuko watches as the painting instructor stiffens up from his salvaging of Bumi’s ~~destruction~~ ruined canvas.

“You can’t just say that out loud!”

“Shh, it’s alright.” Iroh stabs one shaky finger towards Zuko’s lips. “Just let me work my magic.”

“Uncle, _no_!”

“Is everything alright?” Sokka walks towards them, wiping his hands on his paint-stained apron. His eyes light up when he sees Zuko’s painting. “Hey! That looks really good!”

“Doesn’t it?” Iroh’s eyes are gleaming something wicked. “Zuko is amazingly talented, though I believe he could use some _private lessons_.”

Zuko blanches an unhealthy shade of white at his uncle’s suggestion.

Sokka just laughs goodnaturedly. “I’m flattered to hear that. I don’t get very many artists in here these days, especially artists as cute as yourself.”

He winks again, and for the umpteenth time that night, Zuko feels Cupid’s arrow literally piercing through his heart. _Oh, fuck me_.

“Really?” Iroh continues.

“Oh, yeah. I mostly just teach kids and students,” Sokka shrugs. “It seems like many people are too busy nowadays to take some time to relax and to paint. But I really enjoy helping people with their art, especially when they finish it! That always makes me happy.”

“I’m very glad to hear that,” Iroh nods sagely. “Perhaps you could also bring some happiness to my nephew’s life, yes?”

Sokka laughs, and Zuko can sense the remnants of his dignity fading away as he literally drags his uncle out of the studio and into the warm spring air.

~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~

Iroh lets out a guffaw when Zuko asks him for a book on the language of flowers. He slips a heavy tome into his nephew’s hands without another thought.

When Zuko leaves, Iroh picks up the phone to make a call.

“Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“Oh, Iroh! How’re you doing?”

“Doing better, now that I was able to go to your son’s painting studio.”

“You did?” A clatter. “Wait. You don’t mean you brought—”

“Yes. It took some convincing, but my nephew obliged my request, of course.”

“And did they—?”

“It seems like they’re quite taken with each other.”

“Huh. If only I didn’t have that business trip to attend. So now we wait?”

“Now we wait.”

~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~

One week later, and Zuko’s standing outside _Drawing a Blank_ , a paper bag in his hands and a prickling sense of déjà vu under his skin.

 _This is a terrible idea_ , his inner voice chides him. It’s already been an entire week, and Zuko still can’t get Sokka out of his mind. Although Zuko’s work hasn’t dwindled in quality, he’s definitely a lot more distracted, and he finds himself staring outside the window more often than he is paying attention to trimming the flowers in front of him.

Zuko wonders how the peony _ikebana_ is doing at Sokka’s shop, and he resists the urge to go past the shop when he’s driving home. _Nope, sounds like prime stalker material to me_. He’s been holding back so well until his latest shipment of flowers arrives and a bucket of white and red peonies leer up into his face.

 _Fine_. When Zuko realizes that Sokka’s still dangling around in his mind, he angrily retrieves some flowers from the cooler and begins to trim them with his scissors. He adds in some greenery for good measure before wrapping the entire thing up in silky tissue paper and setting it aside. Grumbling, Zuko turns off the lights, checks his flowers, and flips the “OPEN” sign to “CLOSED” before setting off towards _Drawing a Blank_.

And now here he is, standing outside the art studio and trying desperately not to look like some stalker. Through the glass, Zuko catches a glimpse of Sokka darting around the painting area and arranging easels.

 _It’s now or never_. Zuko takes a deep breath before pushing the door open, the smell of oil and fresh paint greeting him and overwhelming his nose. He sneezes.

“Hey! It’s you again!” Sokka bounds up to him. He’s wearing a white t-shirt that reads “ _look hue’s talking?_ ”, a red flannel tied around his waist with a haphazard knot. “Zuko, right?”

“That’s my name,” Zuko mutters before placing the bag on a nearby table. “Uh, I brought you something.”

He watches Sokka’s eyes glow with amazement as he opens the bag and tugs out a bouquet of fresh chrysanthemums, their creamy, wintery petals a stark contrast against the backdrop of dark myrtle.

“These are beautiful,” Sokka whispers with amazement. “Who’re they for?”

“Uh—” _Fuck_. _This was a terrible idea_. “Uh, they’re for you.”

“That’s so kind of you!” Sokka holds the bouquet in his arms. “Thanks for the flowers, dude!”

( _Shit_.)

Zuko’s mind is stuck somewhere in the crossroads between “ _fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_ ” and “ _shitshitshitshit_.” Clearly, Sokka isn’t actually interested in him in that same way, and he’s taking it in a surprisingly, non-anxiety-attack-inducing fashion.

 _Someone didn’t think their grand plan through_ , and there’s that inner voice again, taunting Zuko to the beat of his steadily palpitating heart. _What a great move right there, Zuko_.

“I’m so dumb.”

“What?” Sokka looks confused.

 _Fuck_. _Did I say that out loud_? “Oh, nothing. I’m glad that you like the flowers.”

“So what’re the flowers for?” Sokka asks. Zuko resists the urge to dunk his head in the nearest hole and scream.

“Uh, um, I was hoping you could teach me about, um, how to paint them?” he flounders.

“Oh, sure! You came at a great time,” Sokka turns around and heads towards the back of the studio, the bouquet securely in his arms. “My next group class isn’t for a few hours, so we can spend some quality time together.”

 _Do you even know what you’re saying_? Zuko wants to ask, but he keeps his lips sealed as he follows Sokka.

The painting instructor slides the bouquet into a glass vase and fills it with some water, droplets splashing everywhere. “They’re really pretty flowers—chrysanthemums, right? Dude, did you ever read that book in school?”

“What book?”

“The book about the mouse named Chrysanthemum? Wow, that brings back memories.”

“Yeah. Yeah it does,” Zuko rasps. Sokka motions him towards a prepped easel and hands him a small palette.

“Let’s start with the backdrop, okay? How does a light blue sound to you?”

“Sounds great.” Zuko watches as Sokka squeezes out a bit of sky blue onto his palette, dabbing at the pigment before brushing it across the canvas in slow, practiced strokes. He follows along, covering his easel in a gentle swathe of blue.

Sokka happens to be quite the talker, and the more Zuko paints, the more he learns about his gorgeous painting instructor. Apparently Sokka’s always had an affinity for art, even going so far as to major in fine arts in college before working as a teacher for a few years. _Drawing a Blank_ has been a pet project of his for the past year, and Sokka laughs as he talks about all the things he’s taught people to draw, from everyday still-lifes to giraffes with squibbly spots (a big hit with the kids). He generally teaches kid’s classes, but he sometimes has private studio sessions as well, though they’re usually taken up by family and friends.

“That’s my sister, y’know,” Sokka points up towards a portrait on the wall, and Zuko remembers looking at it the last time he was here. “Katara, and that’s her boyfriend, Aang, and their dog, Appa. Took me so many hours to paint in the fur. I think I had a mental breakdown afterwards.”

Zuko’s completely in awe. He remembers how he didn’t even dream of majoring in something “frivolous”, as Ozai would call it. (Hell, even _biology_ was the closest he got to his actual interests.) As he listens to Sokka talk about his passions, Zuko loses himself in Sokka’s voice once again. If Zuko is a floating lotus, then Sokka is the gentle current, washing away his troubles with a steady stream of stories and jokes.

He barely even remembers finishing up his painting, the chrysanthemums springing forth from the page and fluttering against the myrtle leaves.

“That looks awesome,” Sokka nods before removing the canvas from the easel. “Dude, you have major talent for this.”

“Meh,” Zuko offers. A tide of exhaustion floods over him, and he can’t be bothered to disagree with his painting instructor at this point.

“You should come by more often if you want, yanno. I’d be happy to teach you anything you want!”

“That’s a very tempting offer,” Zuko says. “Maybe I’ll take you up on it.”

“You should!”

 _Perhaps I will_ , Zuko thinks to himself as he leaves the shop. _Perhaps I will_.

~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~

Zuko definitely takes up Sokka’s offer ~~multiple times~~ once or twice. He tells himself that the squishy feelings will pass but to no avail. The dark-haired, blue-eyed man is perpetually in his thoughts, and Zuko finds himself making silly mistakes at work that usually only happen to amateurs. He also can’t seem to think up any new floral arrangement ideas except for ones involving peonies and other pink flowers, and the margins of his notebook are littered with spiraling doodles of chrysanthemums. It’s gotten so bad that his regular customers start asking about the person he’s thinking about.

“What makes you say that I’m thinking about someone?” He poses the question to Suki, a young woman who comes in several times a week to collect flowers for her little bistro down the street. Zuko’s been meaning to take Iroh there for a nice meal when he gets the chance.

“You look lost,” Suki remarks as she hauls the bouquets of daffodils and tulips into her granny cart. “Like you’re thinking about something that’s just out of your reach.”

(Suki is damn perceptive. Zuko tucks in a yellow rose into her cart as thanks.)

Sometimes, it does feel like Sokka is completely out of Zuko’s league, and Zuko doesn’t feel like he’s worthy of someone like that. Not to mention the fact that Zuko’s entirely too confused and embarrassed by the onslaught of his emotions. The flushed cheeks? The rapid heart rate? The surge of panic? Zuko doesn’t think he’s experiencing an anxiety attack, but it sure feels like one. It reminds him of the _ikebana_ competitions that he used to participate in, how he had to sit _seiza_ for hours on end and arrange his flowers in complete silence—except this whole thing with Sokka? This is completely new, and it scares the shit out of him.

Honestly, Zuko’s never pegged himself as a _love-at-first-sight_ person, but of course, here comes Sokka to mess the whole thing up. He can feel himself falling for the guy, nevermind the fact that he’s only met Sokka a few times, and Zuko really doesn’t know how to feel about it.

And there’s also the fact that Sokka’s completely oblivious to everything. Zuko’s already tried everything. He brings in luscious magnolias, their heady fragrance swirling in the store as Sokka teaches him about shading. He lugs in a stand of bamboo, their green stalks swaying slightly when Sokka reaches out to touch their leaves, showing him how to match colors. Zuko’s even brought in a shallow bowl of lotus blossoms that are promptly added to the bursting collection of flowers on Sokka’s windowsill.

 _I’m helpless_ , Zuko thinks to himself as he closes up _The Dancing Dragon_ , picks up the cardboard box, and walks towards _Drawing a Blank_ once again. This’ll be the last time. If Sokka doesn’t get it, well, then Zuko’s completely lost.

“I wonder what you brought me this time,” Sokka waves as he opens the door. Zuko slides right past him and into the studio, depositing the large box on the counter.

“Go on, open it.” He slumps into a chair and watches Sokka open the box, eyes glowing with wonder.

“ _Holy fuck_ —” Sokka breathes, his hands cupping the _ikebana_ gently at its base, the golden veins of _kintsugi_ pulling the entire bowl together. The peach blossoms that Zuko used are barely budding, their pink tips furled tightly across the length of each dark, spindly branch. He’s added a few stems of glossy ruscus and honey bracelet, the green leaves twisting intricately through the peach blossom branches and pointing upwards.

“This is fucking _incredible_ ,” Sokka whispers. “How long—?”

“Not that long,” Zuko shrugs, his back protesting against the countless hours of sitting ramrod straight. He can feel his heart leaping towards his throat, and he quashes it down.

“Dude, I wanna paint this so bad,” Sokka says, placing the peach blossom _ikebana_ gently on the table before shuffling in a nearby drawer. “You in?”

“Sure.” Zuko struggles to swallow the fragments of his pride as his heart sinks back into his chest with a defeated _thump_.

“I don’t have any canvases ready, so I hope you’re okay with watercolors.” Sokka retrieves two smudged watercolor pans and a cupful of clean water, handing one of the pans to Zuko and popping the other one open.

“Works for me,” Zuko mumbles, dipping his brush into the water before opening his watercolor pan and swirling his brush idly around a shade of dark green pigment. He waits for Sokka to make the first stroke before he follows along, a leaf taking shape with a few more gentle strokes. The brush streaks across the paper, taking Zuko’s wandering thoughts along with it.

And after an hour, he stares down at the small spray of peach blossoms unfurling from his page, the edges of the petals rugged and wobbly. Sokka’s decided to spend a good amount of time teaching him how to blend colors, and although the crimson in the center of the blossoms is definitely the pink in some places, the flowers don’t look bad for a novice.

“And I say, again. You have a natural talent. Your flowers look great!” Sokka peers closely at Zuko’s page.

“Really, I’m not. An artist, I mean,” Zuko fumbles with his words, all sense of personal composure flying out the window. He’s still trying to process his feelings, a deep ache settling in his stomach.

“That’s bullshit, dude.” Sokka waves the page around in the air. “Look, you said you’ve never used watercolors before, right?”

“Not if you count the one, maybe two times I participated in some juvenile art classes in elementary school.”

“Doesn’t count,” Sokka shakes his head. “Listen to me. You definitely have a knack for this. I don’t know who told you that you aren’t an artist, but they’re wrong. Art isn’t about how skilled you are. It’s about how well you can express your feelings.”

“I never thought about it that way,” Zuko replies.

“I’m gonna be honest with you, Zuko.” Sokka sits back down on his stool. “When I was just starting out, I would’ve _killed_ to have even a fraction of your talent. Don’t put yourself down, okay?”

And in that moment, Zuko finally understands why Sokka’s words have such a profound impact on him. He’s grown so used to his family ridiculing his choice in career and passion (except for Iroh, of course) that heartfelt praise—even heartfelt praise from a near stranger—is enough to make his heart staccato erratically.

“That means a lot to me, Sokka.”

“I’m glad to hear that!” and Zuko’s hit with that blush-inducing wink again when Sokka rummages around in a drawer and retrieves a blow dryer. “Here, this’ll make them dry faster.”

They sit together, the sound of the blow dryer roaring above them and careening into the chaos of Zuko’s thoughts. He’s always tried to express his feelings through his work, but apparently they’ve just flown straight over Sokka’s head. Zuko feels a crest of disappointment bubble inside of him, but he surprisingly doesn’t feel anxious at all. He just feels a hint of sadness and a twitch of melancholy. And that’s all there is to it.

When Zuko leaves _Drawing a Blank_ that night, he promises himself that he won’t come back.

~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~

The bell above the door at _The Dancing Dragon_ chimes merrily late one afternoon, signaling the arrival of yet another customer. Zuko winces when he accidentally pricks his finger on a rose thorn in surprise.

“Be right with you!” He calls out, rubbing his eyes with his non-injured hand. He wipes his finger with a tissue before pasting on some ointment and wrapping everything tightly with a bandaid. Zuko heaves another sigh before getting up from his workbench and running a hand through his unruly hair.

—and stops. He’d recognize that face anywhere.

“Sokka? What’re you doing here?”

The aforementioned man shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. This is the first time that Zuko’s seen Sokka outside the studio, and he’s totally off guard. It hasn’t even been a day yet, and Zuko’s barely come to terms with his unrequited crush, even taking the time to gather a vase full of yellow chrysanthemums that he was going to have Suki deliver for him the next time she popped in.

But here stands the man himself, his hair tied up in a bushy wolftail and adorned with white-and-blue beads. As Sokka fidgets and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, Zuko realizes just how uncomfortable the painting instructor looks out of his element.

“Um, I was hoping that I could get some flowers?”

Zuko steels his heart against the pain shooting throughout his body. “Yeah, okay. What kind of flowers were you hoping to get?”

“Could I get a dozen red roses please? You can arrange it however you like.”

 _A dozen red roses_. It’s a request that Zuko’s heard tens upon hundreds of times, but this time, the words lodge uncomfortably in his ears. He finds himself shaking as he nods slowly.

“Give me a few minutes,” Zuko says, turning towards the cooler and looking through his supply. When he manages to pull out twelve fresh stems of roses, he swears that fate is messing with him.

Zuko goes through the motions, stripping off any excess thorns and pulling out a few sprigs of ivory baby’s breath from a nearby bucket. He tucks all of the flowers together into a sheath of tissue paper, his finger deftly adjusting each rose before tying the entire thing together with some waxed string.

“Here you go,” Zuko whirls around. “Is it up to your satisfaction?”

“Magnificent, as always.” Sokka smiles wanly. “Do messages cost extra?”

 _And even a message_. “Uh, no? I can write it out for you and attach it to the bouquet.”

“Then can I get a message to go with it?”

“Of course.” Zuko doesn’t think his heart can sink any lower than this as he opens a drawer and retrieves a blank card. He uncaps a pen. “What do you want it to say?”

“Can you write, ‘ _I’m sorry for being an ignorant asshole_.’?”

“Are you sure?” This is definitely one of the weirder messages Zuko’s had to write.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Oh, and can you add on a heart at the end?”

“Okay?” Zuko steadies his hand as he inscribes the note onto the card with a bold, cursive font. He adds the heart in at the end with a practiced flourish.

“Will that be all?” Zuko folds the card into an envelope and attaches it to the bouquet.

“Could I get it delivered?”

“Absolutely,” Zuko resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Where do you want it delivered to?”

He’s completely unprepared for Sokka to lean over the counter and whisper into his ear. “The gorgeous guy at _The Dancing Dragon_.”

 _The fuck_? Zuko drops the bouquet on the counter, his heart hammering along at a frantic pace.

“What?”

“Do you need me to repeat that?” Sokka’s face is turning an unhealthy shade of red. “Because I can, if you want, but I was figuring, y’know, that everything that you’ve been doing, and, like, I was _really fucking dumb_ about it all until I asked Katara about the flowers and she yelled at me and—”

“You told your sister about the flowers?” Zuko interrupts.

“Well yeah, because you kept giving them to me and I thought it was because it was like, payment or something for teaching you how paint things, and _oh my fucking spirits_ , I’m literally the stupidest person on the planet to not understand what was going on—”

“You told your sister. About the flowers I gave you.” Zuko wants to crawl in a hole. “That is absolutely mortifying.”

“ _It’s not as bad as not figuring out the guy you like actually likes you back_!”

“Wait, what?”

“Spirits, it must be fucking illegal for us to be this dense!” Sokka throws his hands in the air before grabbing Zuko’s face and planting an enthusiastic kiss on his lips.

 _Goodbye, cruel world_ , Zuko thinks as all logical reasoning exits his body.

“I like you.” Sokka declares, his fingers thumbing through Zuko’s hair. “Actually, definitely more than plain like. _I fucking love you_ , Zuko Huo. Would you do me the biggest honor in the world and go out with me? And if you’re gonna say no, just gimme a minute first because—”

“Sokka.”

“—I don’t think I can handle this right now. I can’t believe I’ve been this fucking stupid—”

“I love you too, okay?”

“—and now I know why Katara says that I’ll never— _huh_?”

“I said, I love you too.” Zuko tilts his head forwards and presses a fleeting kiss on Sokka’s forehead. “And you can stop with the rambling. I get it. It would be my absolute pleasure to go out with you.”

Sokka practically collapses on the counter, his hands trembling as he picks up the bouquet and hands it to Zuko.

“So how does dinner tonight sound? There’s a great bistro down the street, and I’m good friends with the owner.” Sokka looks so worried, Zuko has to stifle a peal of laughter in his throat.

“That sounds lovely, Sokka. Perhaps I should bring Suki some flowers as well.”

“No way, you know Suki, too?”

“She comes in here three or four times a week to pick up flowers for her restaurant.”

The look that Sokka shoots at him is equal parts surprised and appalled. “You’re telling me that she’s been here more times than me? I should come by more often.”

“My door is always open for you.”

“You’re quite the romantic, aren’t you?”

~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~ ❀ ~

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?.”

“Sokka, I didn’t know you had the day off today.”

“I don’t. Just wanted to come say hi to my favorite person in the world.”

“... I feel like you’re up to something.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The look on your face.”

“Really?”

“How long have we been together?”

“A year?”

“And I’ve definitely picked up on some of your habits, Sokka.”

“Fine, fine. You got me.”

“Knew it. So, what would you like today?”

“Um, I was hoping I could get some flowers?”

“Congratulations. You’ve come to the right place.”

“Babe, _please_.”

An eyeroll. “ _Fine_. What kind of flowers were you hoping to get?”

“Gimme a sec.” A thump. “Uh, I was hoping to get some camellias? And lilies?”

“Those are fine choices, and I do have both in stock right now.”

“And do you have any orchids?”

“We do carry orchids as well. Please allow me a few minutes to wrap up your flowers.”

“That’s fine with me.”

More awkward clattering and banging ensue. Footsteps, and something shuffles to the floor with a muffled thud.

“Would you like that with a message—Sokka?”

“Um, would it be alright if I delivered the message myself?”

“ _Sokka_?”

“I’m not as good with words as I am with paints, so this is gonna be short. Zuko Huo, I liked you the moment I saw you, I fell for you the second time you came through my front door, and I’ve loved you since forever. Would you do me the greatest honor of my entire life and—”

“Yes.”

“—but I didn’t even get to finish—”

“A thousand times yes, Sokka. Now stop being annoyingly endearing and kiss me now.”

“ _Nice_.” The bouquet falls to the floor, petals cascading everywhere.

A pause. “Honestly, I think your uncle and my dad have been waiting for this.”

“Then should we tell them?”

The bell peals merrily as the door swings open.

“Babe, I’m pretty sure they already know.”

“Hello, boys. You’re looking well, Sokka.”

“Dad?”

A hearty guffaw. “I see that Sokka has finally brought you happiness.”

“ _Uncle, please_.”

“Dad, what’re you doing here? Wait, is that _money_?”

“I told you my son would make the first move.”

“Dad, what’s going on?”

“Did you bet on my dating life, Uncle?”

“Yes, and I lost horribly.”

“ _Oh my spirits_.”

**Author's Note:**

> i hope y'all enjoyed it :>


End file.
